The Trouble With Flirting (23 page)

A kiss is just a kiss.

I choose you, Pikachu.

I’m not the one playing two girls against each other.

Focus, Franny. You’re being kissed. Focus.

The kiss ends. We pull apart and look at each other.

“That was nice,” Alex says.

I nod and touch his forearm. Run my fingers lightly down to the wrist, curious. I’ve wanted to touch him like this for so long I’m amazed I can do it now. I imagine my eighth-grade self watching this, thrilled beyond belief. I wish she were really here. I wish this were happening back when we were both eighth graders and Alex Braverman was the epitome of hot wonderfulness to me.

He understandably takes my caress as an invitation for more contact and leans forward eagerly for another kiss.

I put up my hands, holding him off.

“One week ago,” I murmur, a little dazed. “Even just one
day
ago—”

“What?”

“Ever since we got here, all I’ve wanted was for you to be with me like this,” I say. “For us to be alone together.”

“Me too,” he says softly.

“But now it’s too late.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not—we still have a couple of weeks left here. And we live near each other—that’s the best part.”

“Too late for me, I mean.”

He looks surprised. Really surprised. He must have assumed I’d just be there, waiting, available to him whenever he wanted me, if he ever did.

Actually, I’d assumed that too, until today. Which doesn’t make me very proud of myself.

“I know I took longer than I should have to let you know how I was feeling,” he says. “But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“It’s not that. It’s . . .” What is it?

Well, it’s him, for one thing. It’s the fact that he kept making me think he liked me while he was going out with Isabella, which wasn’t fair to either of us. A guy does that kind of thing to you, or even to a friend, and he stops being worth waiting for, no matter how many books he buys you or how warm his smiles are.

But it’s not just that, either. I might have thought,
Yeah, he screwed up, but he’s still cute and available and we could have fun for a while.
But I’m not thinking anything like that at all.

Because of Harry.

Because of stupid Harry Cartwright. Who horses around like a giddy two-year-old, who flirts with anything that
moves, and who’s walking back to the dorm right now with his arms slung around two girls who aren’t me. Harry, who said to me, “You decided what kind of person I was without even giving me a chance,” and who would have stayed by my side if I hadn’t pushed him away, if I hadn’t said mean, hurtful, unfair things to him because I thought what I wanted was exactly what I’m realizing I don’t want at all.

“Sometimes the timing is just off,” I say to Alex, a little impatiently. I’m in a hurry for him to go now, and he’s just not getting it. I have stuff to do.

“Franny . . .”

“It’s okay.” I force a smile. He’s a nice guy. I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to get rid of him. “We’re friends, right?”

I think it’s the fake smile that finally gets the message across. He bows his head briefly and gives up.

Once we’ve given each other awkward pecks on the cheek and said good night, he leaves, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

He’s had a rough night. Rejection from not one but two girls. It’s all his own fault, but I still feel kind of sorry for him.

I head to campus too, but I take a different route to get there. The last thing I want to do is bump into him again.

I move as fast as I can in heels. My feet are killing me—those shoes weren’t meant for this much walking—but I’ll
survive. My phone buzzes and I grab it, hoping—

But it’s just Amelia.
Estimated time of return?

Wow. She’s just asking, not
telling
me what time I have to be back by. Vanessa and Lawrence really did a job on her. I text back,
Don’t wait up. I’ll be quiet.

The unexpected freedom from a curfew buoys me up. I’ll have time to find Harry and explain. I’m near the dorm when I see Alex approaching it from the other direction. I duck into the shadows until he’s safely inside. Through the windows, I can see him heading up the stairs.

Once he disappears completely, I try the front door, but it’s locked, of course. And I don’t have a key.

“Can’t get in?” says a voice behind me.

I turn around and almost groan out loud at my bad luck—it’s Marie.

On the plus side, she’s not with Harry.

She’s holding a Styrofoam takeout cup. Must have needed a warm drink before bed.

Blood, perhaps?

She sidles by with an “
excuse
me,” then looks back over her shoulder and says, “Oh, did you want to come in? It’s kind of too late, though. We have a curfew.” She knows I know that.

“I just needed to ask Vanessa something,” I say.

“I’ll tell her to come out.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll text her.”

She stares at me. “Why didn’t you do that in the first
place?”

“I felt like taking a walk.”

“Huh.” The sound lets me know she doesn’t believe me. To be fair, there’s no reason why she should, since I’m lying. “Whatever.” She pulls the door shut after her.

I take out my phone: I’ll have to try sending Harry a text. I’m trying to figure out what I can say after
I’m sorry
, when I hear voices and look up to see Harry and Isabella strolling toward the dorm.

I should have known they’d run out for a smoke alone together before bedtime. Especially after all that’s happened tonight: they’d want to rehash it, talk it all out, share their thoughts and feelings. He probably told her she’s wonderful and beautiful and kind and deserves someone much better than Alex. She probably told him he deserves someone much better than Marie.

Someone much better than me.

Isabella notices me first. “Franny? What are you doing here?”

“Hi.” I wave awkwardly at her. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” I ask Harry.

He hesitates and glances toward Isabella like he’s asking her for permission. She studies me thoughtfully for a moment. I give her a pleading look. I know we’ve never been close friends, but I’m pretty sure we’re not enemies anymore.

“I think I hear my mother calling,” she says with a shrug, and runs up the steps and disappears inside the door.

Harry settles back against the railing, his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m an idiot.”

There’s a pause. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. “Are you waiting for me to argue?”

“More just hoping you’ll forgive me.”

“You’re an optimist.”

“Hoping,”
I repeat. I’m afraid to look him in the eyes. Talking to Harry was always the easiest thing in the world. Until now.

He shifts, resting the other hip against the railing. “And I should do that because . . . ?”

“Because I want to be with you.”

His eyes flicker over me, distant and critical. “And what brought about this change in attitude?”

So he’s not going to make it easy on me. I can’t exactly blame him. But I wish he’d just open his arms to me. It’s the thought of eventually crawling into them that’s keeping me going right now. “I hate seeing you with Marie. I don’t want to hate it, but I do.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” he says. “Except for the part where I’m kind of delighted about it.”

“You don’t really like her,” I say. “I know you don’t.”

“Well, as you’d be the first to point out, it doesn’t matter to me. I grab at whoever’s near.
What
ever’s near. I’m not picky. Girls, boys, dogs, cats . . .”

“I never said that.”

“Didn’t you?” He gestures up toward the door. “It’s getting late. We done here, Franny?”

I fight rising tears, rising panic. “Did you not even hear me apologize? I said some stupid things. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

“But you believed that stuff you said. Even after all the time we’d spent together. God, Franny—” He cuts himself off. Then he says slowly, “There’s the way people look on the outside and the way they really are, and with me you never even saw the difference.”

“I do now.”

“I meant everything I ever said to you, but you were too busy buying into Alex’s good-guy act to realize it.” The door suddenly opens right behind him, and we both jump. One of the resident advisors sticks his head out. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, “but it’s that time, guys. Got to get up to your rooms.”

“Okay.” Harry stands up straight. “Thanks for coming by, Franny.”

“Please,” I say, not even caring that the graduate student is still there. “Please, Harry. I made a mistake. I know I made a mistake. Can’t you just—”

“Good night,” he says.

He doesn’t even look back, just raises a lazy hand in good-bye as he walks through the door.

S
o it’s back to Aunt Amelia’s I go. Alone. The route feels a little creepy now that it’s past eleven, and I’m lonely and depressed, so I punch William’s number into my phone, and when he answers I say, “Keep me company. I’m all alone on the street.”

“Jesus, Franny,” he says. “That’s not safe at this hour.” It occurs to me it’s three hours later in New York and I’ve probably woken him up, but he doesn’t complain about that.

“I know. That’s why I called you.”

“Yeah, and there’s so much I can do to help you from a couple thousand miles away.” He heaves an exasperated sigh. “Stay on the line with me until you get somewhere safe.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Couldn’t you have found some nice young man to walk you home?” I don’t answer, and after a moment he says, “What’s that sound? Are you
crying
?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Why?”

It’s William and he’s on my side, so I don’t see any reason not to tell him the truth. “You know how I told you that I was
going out with Harry but I liked Alex more? Well, I was wrong. Harry’s better than Alex, but I said some stupid mean things to him before I realized it, and now he won’t even talk to me.”

I stop talking because William is cracking up on the other end of the line.

“That’s not nice,” I say. “I’m crying and you’re laughing.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just not the world’s greatest tragedy.”

“Shut up. It matters to me.”

“I know it does,” he says. “I’m sorry. And here’s what I think, Franny, for what it’s worth. You’re my sister and admittedly I’m biased, but I’m guessing the guy you like is just pissed off at you right now and will get over it if you give him a chance. Because you’re pretty great, and deep down he’s got to know that. So tell him you’re sorry and—”

“I already
did
. And he stayed mad.”

“He probably just wants to make you suffer a little longer. Try again.”

“And if he rejects me again?”

“You’ll become a better person for it?” he suggests. “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, yada yada yada?”

“All right, fine.” I stop and think for a moment. I’m not even halfway home yet. I’m just as close to campus as I am to Amelia’s. William is right. I gave up too easily. “Stay on the phone with me a little while longer,” I say. “I’m going back in.”

I make it to campus safely. The most sinister thing I see is an empty beer bottle someone’s left under a bush. I stop to pick it up, then continue on my way.

Once I’m in the theater courtyard, I say good-bye to William, who tells me sternly that I’m not allowed to walk back alone now that it’s after eleven, but we both know there’s no way for him to actually stop me.

I stay in the shadows around the side of the dorm building so none of the RAs will see me out there, and then I text Harry.

I’m right out front. Please come out. Please. I won’t bother you again if you’ll just come out now.

His response comes quickly.
It’s past curfew.

Do you really care about that?

He doesn’t answer. I wait for a while and nothing happens. It’s probably not as long as it feels—but it feels like a
really
long time.

I’m losing hope and about to send another text—but what can I say to make him come if he doesn’t want to?—when the door to the dorm opens.

Harry slips out, carefully closing it behind him so it doesn’t make a sound. He glances around and I come forward, into view. He shoots me an exasperated look, but he comes all the way down the steps and follows me around to the side of the building, out of view of the front door.

He’s changed into sweatpants and a faded red T-shirt. His bare feet are shoved into flip-flops. The back of his hair is
messed up, so he was probably lying in bed reading or something when I texted him.

I just want to stare at him for a while.

He came.

He didn’t have to. And he did.

But he’s still not yielding. “What?” he says, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “What do you need to say now that you couldn’t say before? If I get thrown out of here because of you—”

“I’ll tell them it’s my fault. That it was an emergency.”

“Why are you walking around with that?” he asks, pointing, and I have to look down to remember I’m holding an empty beer bottle.

“I found it on the street.”

“Why didn’t you throw it out?”

“I needed it,” I say, and hurl the bottle down at the cement walkway, where it shatters into a million pieces. I still have my pitcher’s arm, I guess.

Harry jumps. “Jesus, Franny! They’ll hear that! What are you trying to do?”

“I want to start over,” I say, and step toward the smashed bottle. “So I’m going back to the beginning. I’ll walk on broken glass and cut my foot and then you can carry me again and we’ll start over.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” he says. “And I should also point out that you’re wearing shoes, so you won’t actually cut yourself.”

“I’ll take them off.” I raise my right foot behind me, which leaves me perching precariously on one very narrow high heel. I reach down to undo the shoe strap and wobble, losing my balance.

Harry grabs my arm. “Careful! You’re going to fall right into the pile of broken glass, you idiot.”

I grip his shoulder and raise my head. “I
am
an idiot. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier, but you wouldn’t listen. I’m an idiot and I know it.”